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And suddenly you are reminded of
how much you dislike people when you are
caught alone In the middle of crowded
rooms. The noises increase to discomfort
and uncertainty. When the whispers don’t
seem to subside, like chalk scraping on a
blackboard, the voices thick and deep in the
air and you can’t catch your breath that has been caught
in your chest. So much regret, too much fear
you’re lost, don’t understand, hunched over in
tears. Can’t stop, door’s closed, too far to make out.

It stops. Complete and utter silences.

Quick and jolting, reality sets in.
It surrounds you slowly In waves as the
realization kicks in. Dull murmurs,
a steady heart, vision un-blurry, not
alone in the middle of crowded rooms
but you are simply coinciding.

We are hunched over backs with weary hands
and sweaty brows with sore bulging muscles,
our sleepless eyes furrowed with exhaustion.
Toiling long hours, and many countless days,
every day’s work barely worth the pay.

With tired feet and aching limbs we tend
to every others’ whim. We are proud and
we are spirits that are not yet broken.
Humble, willing, modest and true. We are
the many, the strong: minimum wage slaves.

What makes the hair on your arms rise,
Your palms sweat, your breath catch
In your chest like a wild thing caged?
Is it the dark? A fleeting memory of
A bedtime story, ghosts and goblins
And witches hiding in the shadows?
Is it the way the wind picks up
Just before a storm? The hint
Of wetness in the air?

Or is it something deeper?
Something much more frightening.

A monster deep inside that
You’ve only glimpsed in pieces,
The vast unknown of your own soul
Where secrets gather with terrible powers,
The dark inside.